Werewolf Alliance

By Dragan Vujic

Mourning the loss of his wife, a man escapes to the refuge of the remote north. There he finds temporary peace. However, confusion sets in when he befriends an aboriginal and subsequently learns of a dark force in the forest. Tormented by a craving for vengeance, Brian Briteman enters the werewolf alliance. In time, he becomes a werewolf and wreaks havoc on those responsible for the death of his wife. Unexpectedly, he falls in love for the second time with one of the local residents. Then, life becomes very complicated and hard choices have to be made. Every choice has a consequence. Unanticipated twists and turns emerge. Brian struggles to escape from the mire that he finds himself in. But, the embedded powers are reluctant to release their grip.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 18, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595613342

Dragan Vujic

Dragan Vujic is a writer and an avid outdoorsman. He resides in rural southern Ontario, Canada where he enjoys a quiet, serene lifestyle. Dragan may be contacted at: [e-mail] or [e-mail].

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WEREWOLF ALLIANCE

Copyright © 2008 by Dragan Vujic

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-0-595-49996-0 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-61334-2 (ebk)

Dedicated to my friend, Sandra Batton, for sharing over twenty years of

good times.

Contents

Chapter 1  Uninvited guest

Chapter 2  Hand of doom

Chapter 3  Wolf lore

Chapter 4  Painful past

Chapter 5  First snowfall

Chapter 6  Christmas

Chapter 7  Gift from the dead

Chapter 8  Discovery

Chapter 9  Exploitation

Chapter 10  Prelude

Chapter 11  A time to kill

Chapter 12  Confusion

Chapter 13  Cathy bell

Chapter 14  Second strike

Chapter 15  Time out

Chapter 16  Back to town

Chapter 17  Unraveling the mystery

Chapter 18  Return of the wolf

Chapter 19  Last round

Chapter 20  Aftermath

Chapter 21  Hatching a plan

Chapter 22  Counterstrike

Chapter 23  Requiem

CHAPTER 1 

UNINVITED GUEST 

Somewhere in the Muskokas, another typical autumn morning commenced to unfold. Darkness slowly faded into twilight and twilight gracefully surrendered to the emerging light. A mist began to lift from the calm lake and the loons greeted the new day with a song. Nature always seemed to be in such perfect harmony. There was beauty and serenity in everything. Soon the sun would rise and cast long shadows of the tall trees throughout the forest.

With a splitting axe in one hand and a Marlin thirty-thirty rifle in the other, Brian Briteman briskly walked into the forest. Having tossed and turned all night and thereby forfeited a good night’s sleep, he had risen early. This gave him the opportunity to enjoy the debut of a picturesque morning filled with the silence and sounds of all creation. After a quick breakfast of oatmeal, Brian exited the side door of the cottage. The previous day, he had used a chain saw to topple a relatively large oak tree. Subsequently, he had cut the trunk and some of the large branches into lengths of approximately one foot. Today, Brian intended to spend the day splitting these pieces into firewood. The smaller branches had already been sawed into manageable sizes.

This was his quiet time. The vacationers and most of the cottagers had departed two weeks ago. By the end of last week, all of the fishing camps in the area had shut down for the season. There would not be any foreign activity until the following spring. Brian had the entire expanse of forest and lake almost exclusively to himself. It was primarily his playground now. Brian worked as a guide for three of the four fishing resorts. Between wages and tips, he usually made enough in the summer months to see him through for the remainder of the year. He further supplemented his income by cutting firewood for his warm weather neighbours. Brian had trained and worked in another profession. However, at the current moment, being a guide and only working three months of the year suited him.

His living expenses were minimal. The only items he bought when he went into town on his old, blue pick-up truck were fruits and vegetables. On occasion, he would purchase a few canned goods and a large bag of rice. Oh, yes. There was one more necessity—coffee. Brian enjoyed his coffee. He had not bought any meat in the past three years. The lake was full of fish. There were several species. The more popular ones were pickerel, northern pike and smallmouth bass. In the autumn months he primarily hunted deer. But, he often supplemented his diet with rabbits and partridge. It was a simple life. This was not the life that he had initially chosen. However, it was what he had settled for.

The cottage where he lived was a rather primitive structure that had been built into a rock hill, which overlooked an oval shaped lake. Eight wooden stilts supported the backside of this edifice. Firewood was always stored beneath the back end and covered with a blue tarp. In this manner the wood was sheltered from the elements and had an opportunity to dry. As a rule of thumb, firewood had to be dried for a year in order to produce the best heat and the least amount of creosol. A wide porch surrounded the building and a propane barbeque graced the front. Initially, the cottage had been constructed as a hunt camp for deer hunters who came up from Toronto. This explained its crude nature and lack of amenities. However, there was electricity and running water. The pump house was well insulated and sheltered beneath the dwelling. One had to be careful when piling the firewood in order not to block the door to the pump house.

A patchwork of modern and old best described the cottage. The previous owners had often brought up discarded odds and ends. Subsequently, they incorporated these items into the cottage. A functional sliding door that came off of a renovated kitchen found its place here as the main outside entrance of the living room. Windows of different designs and sizes were scattered wherever they fit on the outside walls. The interior was paneled with three different styles of paneling that had come from three of the former owners’ basement recreation rooms. However, the exterior had uniform siding, which was obviously purchased new and installed.

Brian leaned the Marlin against a nearby tree and prepared to split some firewood.

He selected a relatively large one foot chunk to serve as the chopping block on which all other sections would be placed and split. After this was accomplished, Brian set up his first piece of wood. It remained erect as he brought the axe down. The chunk split in half. Each half was subsequently split again until it was in a thickness that could easily be manipulated in the wood stove. Thereafter, another piece followed the same pace. Brian always found the activity of splitting wood very therapeutic. During the process, he relaxed and gathered his thoughts.

Stopping to rest for a minute, he recalled the first time that he had met Karen. It was the second week of his first year in law school. The curriculum was most demanding and he was already working hard just to keep up with the course load. Text books were not enough. Additional research had to be conducted in the library. Brian had walked into the library and was passing the staircase that led to the second floor. He heard a low gasp and turned just in time to see a fellow student trip on the third step and fall forward. Brian reached out and caught her. Karen had literally fallen into his arms. It was his best catch in more ways than one. Also, it turned out to be his luckiest day. For some reason, Brian held on tight and did not want to let go. This became his most cherished moment.

As he stood there, daydreaming something caught the corner of his right eye. A huge gray timber wolf stood less than thirty yards away at the edge of the pines. The animal appeared to have come out to see what all the noise was about. Wolves are curious to a point. But, they are also very cautious creatures and usually see without being seen. This one seemed to be exceptionally brave, coming forth and remaining so close to a person. As a rule, all animals, even large predators have a natural fear of humans.

Brian reacted instinctively. He grabbed the Marlin rifle and immediately sighted the timber wolf. The predator did not move. He did not run away, which should have been the natural reaction. Instead, a pair of fierce yellow eyes stared back at the man with the gun. Brian sighted the wolf and thumbed back the hammer into a full cock position. It was an easy shot. He could not possibly miss. His finger became to tighten around the trigger. However, he could not shoot. Something stopped him from pulling the trigger. The timber wolf acted more like a wilderness friend than a threat. All friendships in this neck of the woods were highly valued because they were so rare. Brian eased the hammer forward, lowered the rifle and stared back at the wolf. Then and only then, did the huge timber wolf lower his gaze and turn away. Thereafter, this predator of the forest calmly walked away and gradually vanished into the surrounding environment.

This strange situation completely baffled Brian. What had just happened? Why had the timber wolf revealed himself? What did this creature want? Brian experienced some odd sense of a faint friendship. However, this initially appeared to be an absurd thought. Why would a wild animal want to bond with a person? There was no apparent mutual benefit. Brian rapidly banished this seemingly ridiculous thought from his mind and resumed splitting wood. A few hours passed. Brian tired. It was time for a break. This would also be a good time to go and have lunch.

Having left the axe imbedded in the chopping block, Brian picked up an armful of split wood. With his right hand, he grabbed the loaded Marlin. Thereafter, he made a beeline towards his humble abode. Why had he not shot the wolf? It made sense to do so. The rabbit and grouse populations would surely increase with one less predator. The white-tailed deer in the area would be less spooky and easier to get close to. Besides, the tanned hide would have looked nice on the living room wall. He soon arrived at his destination.

After piling the wood beneath the cottage, Brian ascended the flight of stairs that led to the living room door. The sun had come out and it was another great day in the Muskokas. Brian had found peace in this wilderness. However, it was not a completely tranquil environment. Painful memories of the past still haunted him. As he reached the veranda, Brian felt that someone was watching him. Slowly turning around, he saw the same timber wolf looking at him from the edge of the pines. This time, a distance of merely fifty yards separated them. What did the creature want? Why was he here? Brian was about the walk back down the stairs. The wolf suddenly ran into the woods. Apparently the animal was not ready for anything more intimate at this point in time.

I’m home., announced Brian, as he opened the front door, stepped inside and placed the loaded rifle beside the jam.

Of course no one answered. Brian lived alone in this house. He had been alone for quite some time. Closing the door behind him, Brain proceeded to the kitchen sink. Thereat, he washed up and set about deciding what he would have for lunch. His selections were limited. He could either reheat some leftover rabbit stew or he could barbeque some grouse breasts. Given the excellent weather, Brian chose the latter. It was a fine day to dine outside. After removing the selected items from the fridge, Brain exited the house and fired up the barbeque. Thereafter, he commenced scraping down the grill.

He remembered waking up in the hospital. The doctor told him how lucky he was to have survived two gunshot wounds. Although the first projectile had ruptured his left lung, the second bullet passed clean through a non-critical space above the lung and below the collarbone. Brian was informed that his left lung had totally collapsed and that he only had one lung. Furthermore, he was told that the human body is a miraculous piece of machinery and that he could still live a long and healthy life on one lung. Brian was grateful for having survived the ordeal. But, his thoughts were elsewhere. When he asked about his wife, the doctor sadly bowed his head and told him to get some rest. Brain became agitated and the nearby nurse instantly gave him a sedative.

Well, the grill was cleaned off and burned off. It was time to put the meat on. The past had to be left in the past. Brian knew that he had to move on. However, that was easier said than done. Experience is the best teacher. Time is the best healer. Life stands still for no one. Having retrieved four breasts, Brian tossed them on the grill. The meat sizzled as it touched the hot metal. Brian only flipped the breasts once. When they were done on both sides and cooked through, he sat down on the porch and enjoyed his lunch with several slices of tomato.

After he finished, Brian decided to rest for a few minutes, since there was no rush to do anything. His time was his own. He had no schedules. The rays of the warm late morning sun gently caressed his face. Brian closed his eyes momentarily. Within seconds his head nodded and he was fast asleep. The tranquility of the wilderness and the warmth of the sun will often do that to a person. An invisible sandman materializes out of thin air and whacks an unsuspecting victim.

Oooohh. It’s so dark over there. Hey, forget about the car. It will still be there in the morning. Let’s catch a cab home. My treat. Besides, I can’t wait to get you in the sack., suggested Karen, stating the reason for her reasoning.

Great idea. I want to get close to you as soon as possible. I’m hot for you, sweetie. Yeah, who cares about the car. It will still be there tomorrow. Let’s go home. Taxi!, agreed Brian, hailing down a cab.

A taxi pulled up. Brian opened the rear door for Karen. She got in, looked and smiled at him in eager anticipation. Brian followed close behind. He felt her warmth. It always gave him such an elated feeling. The slamming of the car door awakened him. Brian woke up in a cold sweat. His undershirt was drenched. It took him a few minutes to get orientated. He found himself standing alone on the deck of a cottage, overlooking a relatively calm lake. There was no cab and, worst of all, there was no Karen. She would not be joining him—not now, not ever.

"Yeah. That’s what I should have done. I should have agreed with Karen. We should have caught a cab home that night. What a different life we would both be living today. But, I didn’t. Damn me! Fucking idiot! No. I had to go get my precious Benz. Fuck! That stupid fucking car cost me everything. I lost my precious Karen that evening. I lost my greatest treasure that night. How could I have

been so fucking stupid? I’m so sorry. Oh please, forgive me for my stupidity.", sobbed Brian, cursing himself.

Brian dropped to his knees and wept. Over three years had passed since that fateful night and he was still grieving his loss. Bad dreams kept him awake most nights, even though he fell asleep remembering fond memories. Sometimes, he could not sleep for days. Then, he would resort to alcohol in order to pass out. But, that was a temporary fix. When the effects of the beverage wore off, he would become conscious and the tormenting feelings would still be there. However, there was some improvement in his disposition. Brian was drinking significantly less often now than he had been a year ago.

Wiping the tears from his eyes with his shirtsleeve, Brian opened the front door and retrieved his rifle. Thereafter, he returned to his earlier spot and resumed chopping wood. Any physically exerting activity usually gave him temporary peace. It allowed his mind to momentarily forget and focus on the simple task at hand. If he worked really hard and got very tired, he could fall asleep easier later in the evening. However, these were all temporary fixes—band-aid solutions. Brian never actually addressed the real problem. There were some issues that he just could not deal with. They were too painful. Thus, he continued to skirt around the edges. Deceiving himself became second nature after awhile.

Another week passed. The wood was all chopped and neatly piled under the cottage. Deer hunting season commenced. Only bows and crossbows could be used to harvest whitetails during the month of October. Brian was not very proficient with any bow, irrespective of how hi-tech it was, and crossbows were just too awkward to haul around in the woods. Since he lived in a relatively remote area and since there were no neighbours around at this time of year, he decided to shoot a few deer with his rifle. This was illegal and considered to be an act of poaching under the provincial game laws. However, Brian figured that he would not get caught. Besides, he was shooting these big game animals in the proper season. He simply was not the using the prescribed harvest tools. Brian further rationalized that there were many whitetails in the area and poaching a couple would not make a significant difference to anyone. He always looked for the most efficient method of taking game and minimized the sport aspect.

In late summer, Brian had scouted out the nearby locations that he planned to hunt this fall. Thus, he knew where all the travel routes were. In addition, Brian guessed what the available food sources would be at this time of year. Due to the fact that there were no agricultural fields in the vicinity, the local herd relied solely on whatever forage they found within the forest. There was also a creek crossing that was frequently utilized. On opening day, Brian donned his camouflage clothing and headed out well before the break of dawn. He was already concealed in the bushes near the creek by the time it was legal to shoot. The deer crossing was about seventy yards away. Brian cradled a Browning Semi-Automatic rifle chambered in the .270 WSM. A four-power scope had been mounted on the firearm and the weapon had been sighted in at one hundred yards. At seventy yards the bullet would hit about an inch high. Brian knew this. A gentle breeze blew in his face. The wind was right. Everything was perfect.

Brian waited patiently for dawn to make its debut and gradually dissipate the darkness. The vanishing night always surrendered gracefully to the emerging day. Twilight was magic time. Most big bucks were harvested during the twilight hours. It was so peaceful and quite in the woods. Deer were often referred to as the gray ghosts of the forest due to their uncanny ability to silently appear and disappear in their home turf. Finally, dawn commenced its rise. Brain strained to see the whitetail trail that traversed the creek as the diurnal element incrementally increased.

Then, he heard something crashing through the forest on his right. This was not a deer quietly creeping through the woods for a drink of water. There were two distinct sounds. Either two whitetails were running towards the creek or a predator was chasing one deer. In this neck of the woods, there were two predators large enough to chase deer—timber wolves and black bears. It was too early in the year for the rut. Therefore, Brian immediately dismissed the prospect that a buck may be chasing a hot doe in this situation. The rut would not kick in for another month.

Suddenly, a large buck materialized at the edge of the creek and splashed his way across the shallow water. Brian was ready for him. He raised his rifle, caught the deer in his scope, settled the crosshairs, gave the appropriate lead and calmly squeezed the trigger. The firearm recoiled as the bullet left the barrel. Recovering from the impact to his shoulder, Brian witnessed the big buck fall, regain his feet and continue to flee. There was no time to take a second shot. By the time Brian looked through the scope, the deer was already in deep cover. He could still hear the fleeing animal, but he could not see any physical shape to shoot at. The buck was out of sight. Brian was confident that he had made an effective kill shot in the brief window of opportunity that he had been presented with.

As he was about to search for the fallen buck, Brian noticed something else standing at the other side of the creek. It was the same timber wolf that he had seen when he had been chopping wood. Brian raised the Browning and set the crosshairs of the scope on the predator’s forehead. A bullet was already chambered and all that was left was to pull the trigger. The creature stood in defiance, staring at the human hunter. There was no fear. It was as if the wolf knew that this particular person would not shoot him. The timber wolf was right. Brian could not kill him. Something prevented the man from discharging a live round at this specific woodland dweller. Brian lowered his rifle and the wolf vanished into the forest.

Shaking his head side to side, Brain wondered why he could not shoot at the timber wolf. What was stopping him? If he did not know any better, he would have been inclined to say that some strange force was at play here. Perhaps, the destinies of the timber wolf and the lone hunter were somehow intertwined. Ah, but this was such nonsense. How could this possibly be? Clearing his head of these fleeting foolish thoughts, Brian directed his focus on finding the buck that he had shot at. Deer were the hardest animals to kill. They had such incomprehensible tenacity. Even a deer that had both lungs punctured or a heart ruptured could still travel for at least another minute, covering anywhere from a hundred to two hundred and fifty yards. Some left clear blood trails to follow, while others did not. It was always more difficult to track a wounded animal in thick cover that in open territory.

Brain walked over to the spot where the whitetail had first fallen. This would serve at his starting point. Thereat, he found blood. Initially, the blood was bright red and resembled syrup in composition. This was indicative of a heart shot or a major artery being severed. But, Brian knew that most blood trails started in this manner. Following crimson droplets on the autumn leaves through some thick brush, Brain managed to stay on the fleeing animal’s track for approximately fifty yards. Then, he lost the blood trail.

Tying a blaze orange piece of surveyor’s tape on an overhanging branch at the last place that he had seen blood, Brain walked forward about ten yards and commenced a circle to his left. He did not have to go far before he located more blood. The buck had taken a forty-five degree turn and continued his escape through thinner cover. Brian noticed that the texture and colour of the blood had changed. It was now pinkish and frothy. There were tiny air bubbles in the blood. This was good news. Brian knew that he had hit a lung. Hopefully, he had punctured both lungs and he would soon find the fallen buck.

The forest opened up and the blood trail was easier to follow. Another seventy-five yards brought the hunter to the crest of a hill. Looking down the other side, Brian still could not see his deer. The bottom appeared to be quite marshy. Obviously, the wounded whitetail had gone to water. After searching through the shallow swamp for roughly ten minutes, Brain found his quarry partially submerged in the black muck. Slinging his firearm over his right shoulder, the hunter bent down to examine his prize. Although not a trophy buck, this white-tail was of a respectable size and sported a full eight-point rack. Brian stroked the antlers, as he admired his first kill of the season. A few minutes passed. For a brief moment, Brian experienced true joy in his heart as he examined the buck. Then, the darkness returned and his heart grew heavy.

Well, the fun part of the hunt was over. Now, came the hard part. After gutting the whitetail, Brian grabbed an antler and commenced dragging his game animal back to the cabin. This was no easy feat. It took him over an hour and half to reach his destination. Brian had taken several rest breaks in the interim. He knew what he had to do next, but first he would rest and have lunch.

Two hours later, Brian found himself slitting holes near the tendons in the back legs of the buck. Thereafter, he placed a gambrel through the holes, hooked the top end to a chain hoist that he had set up on a meat pole two years ago, which consisted of two uprights and a cross beam, and hoisted the dead creature to a level that he could work at. It took Brian about an hour to properly skin the whitetail. Then, he removed the head and carefully sawed off the set of antlers. This was his prize. Later, he would let this rack dry inside near the wood stove. After a couple of weeks passed, Brian would fasten this trophy by means of a screw through the skull on the living room wall next to the rest of his acquisitions. This was his sixth buck that Brian had harvested in the three years that he had lived here. It was the largest to date. There were already five racks ranging from four points to eight points on the trophy wall.

Within the next hour, Brain set up his meat processing operation. There were two fold-up tables, each measuring three feet by six feet. They had been placed one on each side of the meat pole. The table on the right contained all of the butchering equipment, including a set of four sharp knives, a meat saw and a large plastic cutting board. On the left side, the table contained the wrapping stuff, which included a large role of butcher wrap, masking tape on a dispenser and a black magic marker. Brian was all set to commence his operation. Initially, he cut off the forelegs up to the second joint and tossed them aside. Perhaps, the raccoons would come and eat them later. Then, Brain cut off his first leg roast. He wrapped it, taped it and labeled it.

All of a sudden, the timber wolf materialized out of nowhere. He was standing less than ten yards away from the butchering table. His sporadic appearance temporarily startled Brian. Recovering from the unexpected surprise, the hunter, instead of reaching for his nearby rifle, bent over and grabbed the two discarded venison forelegs. He tossed both of these to his uninvited guest. But, the wolf would not have any of that. Flinching once, the timber wolf continued to zealously eye the hanging carcass. Silently, he seemed to be making a request for some good meat, not discarded scraps.

Oh, all right. There is enough meat for everyone. It’s a big buck. And you did chase this deer out to me. So, I suppose that you are entitled to share in some of the meat., Brian mumbled to himself.

Thereafter, he cut off a prime roast from the front leg and threw it to the wolf, which had advanced about five yards. This offering was readily accepted. The timber wolf grabbed the piece of meat with his powerful jaws and retreated into the forest. Brian had never been this close to a live wild animal. It was something novel and quite the experience. His newfound friend showed no fear whatsoever and came into closer proximity on every subsequent encounter. Maybe, this wolf would become a friend in time. No one knows what lies in store for him.

Brian was left alone for the next couple of hours and he almost completed his butchering. He had cut out the tender loins. These would not be wrapped. Instead, he would commence barbequing these shortly. They were the best part of the deer. There was someone else who had an uncanny ability to show up around mealtime. Thus, Brian decided to fry up both tender loins—one for himself and one for another uninvited guest. Another hour passed and the butchering was all done. Brian had wrapped every piece except for a hind leg roast.

He waited. What was he waiting for? For some unknown reason, Brian knew that the timber wolf would be back for another piece of venison. He was not disappointed. The wilderness creature walked right up to Brian and took the last roast out of his outstretched hand. This wolf definitely had no fear. Strangely enough, Brian experienced no fear either. In fact,